


1978

by ArcticLava21



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Domestic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Old Married Couple, One Shot, Post-Canon, Reflection, They're old now, a bit of a social statement, life - Freeform, ooo mystical tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLava21/pseuds/ArcticLava21
Summary: He remembers learning of Stonewall. He remembers crying- he didn't think that something like this was ever possible. No, it wasn't. It couldn't be... Esther's daughter asks him why he is crying. "Love. That's why.""Love isn't a sad thing, Uncle David! Why would it make you cry!""Love moves people, never forget that. And tears is a sign of a movement, a shift, a change." A realization-a new revolution.Pride."I don't understand." she says, looking up at him with her dazzling, big blue eyes. "You're not alone. Not many seem to understand it, how love is both the same and dynamic. Universal. They stay firm in their notions of right and wrong, black and white, when the reality is just grey. They live under a veil of ignorance, and they never bothered to take it off and truly see. Some of them never will, and I pity them. I pity them."





	1978

David is in a trance as he holds tightly onto Jack's hand. He stares at the painting of a flower behind the doctor's head, in some panicked state between listening intently and being too dazed to understand.

****

He rubs circles into Jack's palm, desperately trying to soothe him- or maybe he's trying to soothe himself. David seems to be more worried than Jack. Or, maybe that's just how they coped. Jack tended to restrain himself in fear, to shut down and show no emotion. David became a nervous, jittery wreck. David had picked up on these things after nearly 70 years of living together.

****

Then they hear the words, _cancer._

****

That one infamous word. A word that has changed lives. Six letters that can change a life forever. Six letters that ruin so much.

****

David hated that word.

****

Jack looks impassive. He merely nods, fixing his eyes on the same painting of a flower that Davey had looked at, his eyes scanning it intently as if it was something remarkably interesting. A painting of a daisy with seven petals.

****

He was 96 years old. He was not young anymore. His entire life he had wondered how life would catch up to him- what would cause his death. That one chance of existence that had flashed before his eyes in a blur.

****

When he was a younger he would fantasize about it- his death. As a boy, he had nothing to truly live for- except maybe for Santa Fe. Santa Fe- the only thing he clung onto. The thing that he didn't truly want. No, all he wanted was a family. But, he wouldn't get one. At least he never thought that he would. But Santa Fe? Santa Fe would always be there for him. Santa Fe wasn't a human, anyway. Santa Fe wasn't cruel like the humans that he had become accustomed to. And that was 1883.

****

Then there was the newsboys strike. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was actually doing something. He met David. He was  _really_ smart, (unlike what he thought himself to be) he was awkward, he was kind. He still is. He remembered the boy who loathed himself, he remembered how that hurt him. He remembered when he gained something that intelligence couldn't make up for- confidence in himself. Believing that he had the potential to create change- because believing in your own capabilities is what truly enables the capability.

He remembered when the strike was settled. He remembered bounding to Davey out of the office to tell him. He remembers the exultation that spread across Davey's face as he gripped his hands in disbelief. He remembers when he pulled him into a tight hug, laughing. And Jack was laughing. That was 1899.

****

After the strike, He would spend hours looking at the stars with Davey on the fire escape, and they would sit side by side telling stories. Laughing and acting silly, because God knew that Davey needed a break at times. They would laugh, they would cry. They would tell deep stories, or discuss abstract meaning. Then they would quack like a duck. They didn't know what it was. They were confused. But they loved it. Maybe Jack would offhandedly talk of his death. Today he had died by saving a girl from getting shot, or by saving a baby from drowning. And Davey would shake his head, understanding something Jack didn't quite get yet. "Not yet" He said one night. They were twenty by then.

****

That's when Davey tightened his grip on his hand, and kissed him on the cheek. Davey almost laughed when "Mr-I-Think-Romance-is-Stupid" blushed intensely. He watched his breath curl into a mist in the air. He was dazed, elated, and very confused. And then Jack reached over and kissed him. And they didn't care. It didn't matter at that moment. That moment on the fire escape, hiding in the darkness. Hiding. That would soon become a recurring theme. It wasn't much, but it still meant the world. And one could say that that was enough. It's cold. His nose is cold, and that's endearing in a way. On other nights? They would dance and walk around aimlessly. They would play cards with the Newsies and read. That was on those rare nights when Davey was actually available and not doing his extensive schoolwork. That was 1902.

****

Eventually, they moved in together and adopted a dog. She was a stray. Jack wanted absolutely nothing to do with it, but Davey had a way of convincing him. 'It will be temporary, Jack." Davey had said, knowing full well hat he had intentions to keep it. He had set out a cardboard box for it in the kitchen. Jack knew that too, that yes the puppy would be staying, (judging by the way Davey adored it already) so he merely smirked and said, "Temporary."

"Only a little bit." But, they both understood and that understanding was what was special. 

****

Jack "hated" that dog. He maintained this notion stubbornly. Sometimes, David would walk into his bedroom to find the puppy lying across Jack's chest, and Jack would smile and rub her neck. "I thought you hated her, _Jackie_." He would say, leaning against the doorway with a triumphant grin. "But  _I do,_ Dave _."_ He says, still letting the puppy lick his face as he scratched her underside affectionately. " _Is that_ right?" He says to the dog. David plopped down beside him and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I don't buy it." "You should."  
Then he whacked him with a pillow. Which "he" whacked "him" is up to interpretation.  ** **  
****

It is also worth noting that Davey would also often sit in the parlor with the puppy at his feet, either reading or simply thinking. Jack would probably be staring intently into her eyes, giving the dog the trademark, "Don't you dare shit on my rug" look. That was 1906.

****

* * *

****

 

He looks over at David. He looks defeated, a look of so many negative emotions combined into one. It could be registered as dread. As anger. As sadness. As a solemn acceptance.

As, ** _I'm old. And I'm tired. I've lived a long life._**

 _I know._ David nods.  _But me too._

 _What comes next?  
_ _I don't know._ **  
**

****_I love you._

 _That I know. I love you too._ ****

There isn't an adequate emotion that can sum all of that up.

* * *

****

Jack wouldn't of traded any moment with him for the world. Okay, yes. Davey was slightly lactose intolerant and had a certain tendency to completely ignore that fact and drink milk, much to the dismay of the man who lived with him. Yes. They fought. Sometimes Davey wanted to throw Jack out of a window. And honestly, Jack probably deserved that. Sometimes Jack wanted to inform Davey that he was being a complete hyper old lady and needed to chill. Maybe he was too concerned with helping other people that he completely forgot about himself and his own needs. Maybe Jack was being an asshole.

****

But at the end of the day? He loved him more than what he thought was possible. They would apologize and probably discuss something simple like ducks. Funny how passion  isn't there at age 96, but at age 96, you also realize that there are more important things than just passion. It's respect, trust, (and pixie-dust) and care. 

Well, the passionate side of a relationship is pretty good too. It's been awhile. Jack had bad hips. Oh well. As long as they could hold each other and laugh. As long as they could sing songs out of tune, which would probably cause Davey's brother to groan and claim to no relation to him. That didn't work so well for him seeing they looked a lot alike.

****

Soon that would be taken away from.

****

They wouldn't be able to torment Sarah's children with endless puns. They had always wanted children. Honorary Uncle Jack (although, the kids knew that he was truly just Uncle Jack) and Uncle Davey loved Sarah's (David's sister) children dearly, and the kids (they weren't kids anymore) loved them in return.

****

They loved when the youngest Daughter, Esther, would sing. (They would question where she inherited it from because God knows that she didn't inherit it from Sarah or her grumpy husband.) Or when her eldest daughter Emily had excitedly read them a book when she was only four. Or when Winnie, the son, became a doctor.

 **But, would it be taken away completely if they were still remembered?** ****  
** **

 

* * *

 

****

Davey almost can't cry as the doctor offers words of comfort. He's done this many times. Delivered bad news. It's his job- just another day. But to Davey? It's the worst day. He's beyond tears.

"I'm sorry, Sir, there's nothing we can do for your brother." David even wasn't capable of adding the snippy comment of  _yes, brothers, we look very much alike, don't we_ in his brain.

****

* * *

 

 

Davey remembers sitting on the sofa with his fat bichon curled at his side, reading the newspaper. Jack wasn't home. His niece Esther and her not-grumpy-husband were visiting with their daughter. He remembers learning of Stonewall. He remembers crying- he didn't think that something like this was ever possible. No, it wasn't. It couldn't be... Esther's daughter asks him why he is crying. "Love. That's why." 

 

"Love isn't a sad thing, Uncle David! Why would it make you cry!"

 

"Love moves people, never forget that. And tears is a sign of a movement, a shift, a change."  _A realization-_

_a new revolution._

**Pride.**  

 

"I don't understand." she says, looking up at him with her dazzling, big blue eyes. "You're not alone. Not many seem to understand it, how love is both the same and dynamic. Universal. They stay firm in their notions of right and wrong, black and white, when the reality is just grey. They live under a veil of ignorance, and they never bothered to take it off and truly  _see_.  Some of them never will, and I pity them. I pity them."

****

It's November. Jack and David are ecstatic when the _President of the_ fucking _United States denounces Title Nine._ How is something like this possible? "It isn't possible... It's not." Jack says, wrapping and arm around David. "But it is!" They laugh in utter disbelief.   
  
And to think, that neither of them, like so many, never even got to see what would eventually happen. A time in which who they were could be celebrated instead of shunned. If only.

 

If only can be tragic. Maybe it's best to focus on the happiness that they found in spite of that hurdle. The hurdle of human nature.

****

One of his last memories is of the assassination of Harvey Milk and George Moscone. He cries then, too. But, tears don't always mean sadness. They can, but it also means a movement for love. A flame that we take for granted. A flame that spread.

****

And that was 1978. And the flame is still catching.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I love you all. <3 hope you enjoyed.  
> -Anna


End file.
